


Deliverance

by quake_quiver



Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 4 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fever, Gen, Hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quake_quiver/pseuds/quake_quiver
Summary: Dean doesn’t know what Sam’s seeing. Well, that’s not true. He knows Sam has got to be seeing Lucifer. But he doesn’t know what specific torment is playing out in front of Sam’s eyes like a horror film.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 4 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955290
Kudos: 14





	Deliverance

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "hallucinations." Another super short, super vague fill, but I kinda like it. Enjoy!

Dean doesn’t know what Sam’s seeing. Well, that’s not true. He knows Sam has got to be seeing Lucifer. But he doesn’t know what specific torment is playing out in front of Sam’s eyes like a horror film.

Sam’s muttering. His eyes, bright with fever and only half-focused, dart wildly around the room, never settling anywhere for long. He keeps flinching, his hands pressing against his ears like he’s hearing something loud and unpleasant.

Dean wonders what Lucifer’s saying. What he’s doing. He doesn’t want to ask Sam. The last time he did that, it seemed to do nothing but unsettle him even more.

So Dean just keeps running a cool washcloth over Sam’s forehead, gently down his arms. Sam’s shuddering, mumbling too fast and too quietly for Dean to understand what he’s saying.

Sam’s whole body recoils a few moments later, his arms flying up to cover his face. Like something’s been thrown at him, or someone’s rushed to attack him.

Dean shushes him, keeping up a steady litany of trite nonsense to try to break past the hellscape Sam’s brain has him stuck in.

Sam slowly uncurls. His unfocused gaze lands on Dean’s face for a moment, but then he frowns and looks away, and Dean thinks he hears the words “not real” leave Sam’s mouth.

Dean gently palms his brother’s forehead, his touch feather-light. Sam’s still far too hot, but Dean doesn’t love the thought of trying to move him while he’s so out of it.

Man, Dean hates this. He hates the clear distress in Sam’s voice. He hates that he can’t fix it. He can force down this fever, and he can ply Sam with water and soup, tuck him into blankets and lay with him, but there’s nothing he can do to save Sam from the horrors of his own mind.

Sam groans, trying to twist away from Dean’s washcloth and grimacing at something in the corner of the room that only he can see.

Dean soothes him, smooths the washcloth over his skin, and prays for light at the end of the tunnel.


End file.
